


Don't Talk to Strangers

by reillyblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Derek Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon Compliant, Cohabitation, F/M, Feminist Derek, Feminist Themes, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Humor, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexism, sort of lol - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: Something wasn't right.Stiles peeked under the bed covers, sighed, and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. At some point in the last few years, weird shit had become the norm.So... sure. This may as well happen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Rating changed from M to E because I got *ahem* carried away.

Something wasn't right.

Stiles peeked under the bed covers, sighed, and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. At some point in the last few years, weird shit had become the norm. So... sure. This may as well happen. 

The first thing he did was text an SOS to everyone in the pack and set up a morning meeting. Then he rolled out of bed and ignored the rapid-fire pinging on his phone. 

His face didn't look all that different, but it definitely wasn't the same. His jawline was more delicate, leaner around the edges. Somehow his cheekbones seemed a little higher. His eyebrows were recognizable. He also hadn't lost any moles in the body changing process. He decided after a long moment that he looked pretty cute, maybe even cuter than in his normal body.

But his clothes fit weird. His boxers were awkwardly loose where he was missing an important appendage. He swam in his t-shirt when he pulled it over his head, even around the chest where he expected it to be tight. The pant legs were too long, the hips too skinny. Yeah, hips. He had real hips now. He had never pictured himself as a girl before, but now that he was beyond the imagining part it seemed very strange that his female body would have hips. If he was going to be a girl, he should be long, wire-y, boob-less, and hip-less. Instead, he was short, with hips that flared and boobs that definitely weren't small. 

He rolled his pants up even more and discovered he still had leg hair. Less of it, but it was there. He briefly traveled into the bathroom to contemplate shaving before he decided fuck _that_ and rolled his pants down just a little more to cover it. 

He spent about ten minutes looking in the mirror and just feeling his boobs. They were _awesome;_ so soft, so squishy. His nipples were bigger than before, the hair there softer and less dense but still present, like the hair on most of his body. 

The shoes were a problem. His feet were almost dainty now, exposed to the same shrink ray that had zapped everything but his chest. He slipped on what felt like clown-sized flip-flops and stumbled out to his jeep. 

Only three werewolves had followed his instructions to meet at the old diner downtown for breakfast -- Derek, Scott, and Isaac. Given how Stiles had been ignoring texts all morning, he wasn't surprised when all three worried heads swiveled his way when he walked into the diner. 

Stiles waved glumly and tolerated their stares as he made his way over to their table. He collapsed down onto the booth on Scott's side. 

"What did you do?" Scott demanded immediately. Isaac's eyes were basically falling out of his head. Derek was also staring but in a less terrible way. 

"I woke up," Stiles replied testily. 

"What did you do before that?" Scott clarified impatiently, eyes narrowed. 

"Played Ps4? Took a shower? Brushed my teeth?" Stiles shook his head. "Literally nothing. I've been thinking about it all morning -- I've just been living. Nothing weird has happened lately." 

"Seriously?" Isaac looked spooked now. "So, this could happen to any of us?" 

Stiles shrugged. 

"Well, Lydia is on her way." Isaac nodded, still worried. "She'll know what to do." 

"How will Lydia know what to do?" 

"With your hair." Isaac nodded at his head, wrinkling his nose. "The bed-head look doesn't work on girl-you." 

"It didn't work on boy-you, either," Scott smirked a little, nudging at Stiles with his shoulders. 

"I would be offended, but somehow fashion advice from _you two_ is meaningless to me," Stiles shot back before the waitress arrived and took their orders. Stiles felt like he could eat a horse. At least his stomach hadn't shrunk too. 

"I'm 5' 4''," he complained immediately. "I measured myself this morning. There's no way. This is not what I would look like as a girl. Whoever did this fucked up their formula." 

"I think you look the same." Scott surveyed him with a frown. "Besides the..." He gestured vaguely towards Stiles's chest. "Maybe you should text Lydia to bring, uh, supplies for you. Kira and Malia are still out of town for the weekend so she's your only hope." 

"Like a bra?" Stiles grimaced. "I'm not wearing a bra." 

"Why not?" Isaac asked. 

"Would you wear a bra?" 

"If I grew breasts overnight, yes." Isaac blushed somewhat as he said that. 

"Derek, you haven't said anything." Stiles ignored them. "Do you know what this is?" 

Derek shook his head, tilting his chin somewhat as his eyes skimmed over Stiles with calm interest.

"Could be a druid," he finally guessed.  

"Druid." Stiles scowled. "Evil Druid? Like Jennifer?" 

"Could be," Derek conceded, his expression twitching at the reminder of his ex. It smoothed over quickly into something more contemplative. "Why, though?"  

"I don't know, but I'd like to hang out with people with super-strength 24/7 until we figure that out." Stiles shivered, looking down at his petite body. "I feel really weak. My muscles, which weren't all that big to begin with, are, like, half the size."

"You can stay with me," Derek volunteered unexpectedly. "I just finished the guest bedrooms in my new house."   

"Thanks. I'm not a huge fan of being kidnapped and sacrificed in the middle of the night, so I appreciate the offer." Stiles's heart warmed somewhat at the gesture.  

They were so distracted by their food arriving that Stiles missed Lydia's arrival until she was hovering over him. 

"What... is _this_?" Lydia dragged her gaze down his new body. "What did you piss off?" 

"I'm an innocent bystander, I swear. I did nothing," Stiles said around a mouthful of pancakes. Lydia batted at him until he scooted over and squished Scott up against the wall. Then she stole a fork from Isaac's pile of unused utensils and started in on Stiles's pancakes too. "Hey, I grew breasts overnight. I need to replenish my energy." Stiles nodded pointedly at Isaac's mountain of eggs. "Steal from him." 

"That you did." Lydia examined his breasts without shame. "Looks like a size C. I'm a B, so it would be uncomfortable to borrow my bra. You're going to want to buy yourself one." 

"I'm not wearing a bra. I'm turning back into a man soon," Stiles whined stubbornly.

"Sure." Lydia nodded in fake understanding. "I'm sure we'll figure this out immediately like we always do." 

"Might want to buy a bra," Isaac whispered. 

Stiles kept underestimating his arm length and stabbing himself in the mouth -- which got old quick -- but otherwise, breakfast was fine. It was a Sunday morning, thankfully, so most of them didn't have work to get to. However, Lydia promptly announced that she had better things to do after she demolished half of Stiles's pancakes. Before she left she scheduled in a bra fitting at Victoria's Secret on Stiles's phone calendar and made him promise to meet her there. 

"Plus side -- you get to see the inside of Victoria's Secret without feeling like a total perv," Scott pointed out unhelpfully. 

"It's not a real secret, Scott. It's filled with violent pink underwear." Now that he had lady parts of his own, underwear seemed less sexy and more necessary. 

"Still." 

Stiles looked down at his breasts before taking them both in hand. He couldn't believe he was a C-cup. They felt like heaven.

"Dude!" Scott choked on his coffee, sputtering. Isaac's eyes were bugging out again. 

"They're really nice. You want to feel them? I squeezed them for like a half hour this morning." He wondered what Scott was freaking out about. The diner had mostly cleared out and no one was paying attention to them. Once Scott had his coughing under control, he fish-gaped at him until Stiles asked, "What?" 

"That is wrong on so many levels." 

"Why? They're mine. We're friends. It's no big deal. Also, check out my leg hair, dude." Stiles lifted his foot and rested it on the booth next to him so he could pull up his pant leg. "It's so soft! Darker than I expected, but it's kind of fuzzy and not as prickly." 

"I have to go," Scott announced. "Let me out of here." 

Stiles reluctantly scooted over and watched his friend retreat from the booth, waving over his shoulder with what looked like a smidgen of guilt.

"You're a terrible alpha!" Stiles called after him. "I'm in crisis over here!"

Isaac lasted until Stiles started squishing his own boobs again. Then he mumbled something about meeting up with Cora and left almost as abruptly as Scott. 

Stiles looked at Derek expectantly. 

"Leg hair scary to you too?" 

"I grew up with three sisters," Derek reminded him coolly. He sipped his coffee, his eyes level with Stiles's. Stiles couldn't help smiling in response. He thought maybe the corner of Derek's lip hooked up a little too. "But can you let me finish my coffee before you get us kicked out of here?" 

"Oh," Stiles looked down at his hands still on his boobs and slowly removed them. "Ok. That's fair." 

 

* * *

 

Stiles moved his stuff over to Derek's house after lunch, sifting through his clothes for the smallest and tightest fitting. They were still enormous on him. 

"Maybe my dad has some of my clothes from middle school?" Stiles pondered aloud. Derek watched him, hovering over one shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest. 

"Just borrow Lydia's." 

"Does Lydia... _let_ people borrow her clothes?" Stiles asked, completely unsure of the answer.

"Kira?" Derek wondered. "Malia?"

"Maybe. Probably a better bet. Maybe Kira's a C-cup?" Stiles brightened at the thought of avoiding a bra-fitting with Lydia. A few years ago he might have killed for an opportunity like that, even if it meant getting stuck in a female body, but now that she had moved on to her fifth boyfriend since high school Stiles's romantic hopes had faded slowly into nothingness. He was glad to have her as a best friend, though her blunt words hurt more now that he wasn't smitten with her.

Derek's eyes drifted down to Stiles's chest before he looked away. 

"I don't think so." 

"You're an expert?" Stiles poked without thought. He immediately regretted asking that question. 

"Get your stuff, I'll wait downstairs." Derek sighed, unclenching his muscled arms and exiting the room. Stiles felt bad. Derek's dating life may be a smorgasbord of monsters, but Stiles didn't have to bring that up unnecessarily.

 Stiles stumbled down the stairs of his apartment complex with a giant duffle bag over his shoulder, tripping over his too-big shoes. Derek took his bag from him with a snort. Stiles let him take it, but it made him feel even weaker to see the werewolf easily swing it over his shoulder. 

"Why didn't you change?" Derek eyed his oversized jeans and the t-shirt that showed half his chest. "You look like a child in those." 

Stiles aimed a kick to Derek's shin. Derek sidestepped him without effort, which made Stiles angrier.

"Why is everyone commenting on my clothes like I want their opinion?" Stiles growled to himself. "I'll dress how I damn well want." 

"It's just a body, Stiles," Derek slung the bag into the back seat of Stiles's jeep before he closed the door. He caught Stiles's forearm, his hand too hot on Stiles's skin. "That's all it is." 

"Is it?" Stiles wondered aloud, eyeing him with a challenge. Derek wordlessly let his arm go and took a step back. Stiles was struck by how much taller he was now, imposing lines of strength and power towering over him. He'd always felt like Derek could crush him with just his fingers, but now he felt... scared. Actually scared. He trusted Derek not to hurt him, but he never realized how big guys seem to women. It didn't help that Derek was weightlifter levels of ripped and he made no effort to conceal it.

Stiles followed Derek back to his rebuilt house in the preserve and wandered through the newly completed parts of the house he hadn't seen before. The guest bedrooms were freshly painted with different colors, but otherwise the same. He picked the one with the manliest color -- blue, obviously, through green also seemed safe -- and hoped fervently that it would magically reverse his girl parts.  

Derek mostly left him alone the rest of the day, which was probably a good thing because Stiles spent most of it trying on clothes and moodily throwing them on the ground. He was quietly grateful enough that Derek made them both dinner that he didn't snap at Derek while they ate, though it was a close call. His phone buzzed while they were eating and Stiles groaned when he saw Lydia calling. 

"I'm not wearing a bra," Stiles insisted. 

"Stiles Stilinski, I did not interrupt my Pilates and drive down here just for you to ditch me. Come. Now." 

Stiles asked Derek after he hung up, "I don't have to wear a bra, do I?"   

"I thought you didn't want my opinion," Derek eyed him somewhat warily.  

"I don't." Stiles frowned. "What do you think?"  

"I think you were right." Derek set his water down and leaned back in his chair. The dining room table was long enough to fit the whole pack, made of some beautiful wood that Stiles was sure Derek had cut and sanded himself. Derek spent years building this place back up, and he had taken to the work with persistence and patience. The building came first, then he'd built nearly everything inside of it. Then he'd started his own business building things for other people. 

"I was?" 

"Do what you want. Fuck them." Derek smirked. "Fuck me, too. Apparently."  

Warmth blossomed in Stiles's chest. He finished his food in silence and ignored the buzzing of his phone. 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles really should have anticipated the mob of women at his door Monday morning, but they caught him completely off guard. 

"Rise and shine, you're a woman now!" Kira crowed as she opened his door. He squinted in the light as she opened the blinds and sat down on his bed, accompanied by Malia and Cora.  

"You owe Lydia chocolates or something. She's pissed." Cora smirked at him from one side of his bed. With Cora on one side and Kira and Malia on the other, Stiles was officially trapped. 

"Wow." Malia stared at him. "You're really a woman. I didn't believe it." 

"I'm not wearing a bra," Stiles mumbled purely out of instinct, still half-asleep. "Or heels or skirts or dresses."

"Relax. We heard," Kira soothed him. "We brought clothes that actually fit. I can't believe you're my size." She lifted the covers and peeked under them. Stiles rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as Kira whistled. "Wow, ok, my size except for those." 

"Why won't people just leave me to my misery?" Stiles wondered at the ceiling. 

"Why are you miserable?" Cora scoffed. "You're a woman!" 

"I'm a man. I'm just trapped in a woman's body," Stiles argued immediately. 

"Only temporarily," Malia pointed out. "We will figure this out. You are looking at this all wrong, Stiles. This is an _opportunity._ "

"Have some fucking fun!" Cora whacked him over the covers. Stiles winced. "Jesus, this is your chance to answer the great unknowable questions -- are period cramps worse than getting kicked in the balls?" 

"Oh my god, periods?" Stiles groaned, tempted to bury himself under the covers again.

"You could have sex," Malia said seriously. "You would know what sex feels like from both sides. You could say which is better. You could _learn things_." 

"Oh, yeah, who's going to have sex with me?" Stiles rolled his eyes.

Cora coughed out a laugh. Kira elbowed her.

"We'll find you someone." Kira dismissed that question a little too easily before she jumped up. "Get up, we're dressing you." 

"No bras," Stiles warned them again, reluctantly hauling himself out of bed. "It's a good thing I'm self-employed. I can't imagine trying to explain this to a boss." 

"Well, we aren't, so chop chop Stilinski," Cora huffed, throwing a pair of jeans and a tank top at him from a pile of clothes. 

Apparently, all three of them had brought a small pile of their clothes over to see what would work on Stiles's new body. Stiles tried on too many items of clothing until he found four outfits that didn't fall off his body or squeeze important bits of him. And shoes that fit, thank god. Afterward, Kira and Cora insisted on messing with his hair, adding product and combing it this way and that until they decided on a slicked-back side part. 

"I look like Emma Watson post Harry Potter," Stiles commented when he finally looked in the mirror. In fitting clothes, he could see his hips, his waist, his obvious bust. He didn't let them tweeze his eyebrows, but he was so pleased to be in clothes that fit that he allowed a little bit of makeup. He had to admit -- he was cute, in a clean and put-together kind of way. 

"You look adorable," Kira praised him

"I always look adorable," Stiles corrected her. 

"Ok, we have jobs that are not 'hair and makeup' or 'wardrobe', so we'll see you this Friday for ladies night, right Stilinski?" Cora checked her phone with that characteristic Hale indifference. 

"Excuse me?" Stiles gaped. 

"You want to get laid, right?" Kira shrugged. "We'll find you someone." 

"I will _not_ still be a woman on Friday," Stiles insisted. 

"Sure." Malia agreed unconvincingly, nodding her head. "Yes. You're probably right." 

 

* * *

  

Stiles _loved_ Derek's house. Derek had hired some obscure architect to advise him on the design, so the lighting was amazing -- sunlight rained through skylights and high windows in almost every room. Surrounded by the woods, it was peaceful and beautiful. The floor lit up with green patterns as the wind pushed the light through the shifting leaves that protected them on all sides. Stiles sat in the living room absorbing it all, relaxing on the couch with his coffee in hand while Derek made them breakfast. 

"Dude. This is the life." Stiles closed his eyes as the blissful smell of pancakes drifted his way. 

"You're feeling better," Derek noted. 

"It's nice to have clothes that fit." 

"I shouldn't say anything, right?" Derek commented wryly. 

"What were you going to say?" Stiles wondered, opening his eyes and peering over the couch. Derek set a plate of pancakes on the table and motioned for Stiles to come eat. Stiles got up eagerly and sat at the table, grinning as Derek returned a moment later to set maple syrup and butter on the table for him. 

Derek sat down with his own plate of pancakes before answering his question. His eyes flicked over Stiles, down to his shirt and jeans before settling back on his pancakes. He seemed to consider his words carefully before he said them.  

"How do you like the new style?" 

Stiles flushed. He didn't know why. 

"The hair is ok." 

Derek smiled, chewing thoughtfully as he looked back over Stiles's hairstyle. 

"I didn't think the bedhead look was that bad. Kind of suited your personality." 

"That's an insult, isn't it?" 

"No."

For some reason, Stiles believed him. 

"I'm working on a chest in the garage workspace. Help yourself to whatever during the day." 

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, feeling weirdly shy. "I've got the internet and my laptop, so I should be ok." 

Stiles had started his "weird supernatural shit consultation" business about a year ago. It had really taken off. Derek and Deaton spread his name across their respective supernatural networks, and now he got calls from folks in South East Asia and Brazil asking for research help with various spooky occurrences. The same kind of weird shit that had happened to his own body two nights ago, actually.  

Stiles spent the better half of the morning compiling all he could find on water dragons and sending it to a pack of shape shifters in Indonesia before he let himself research "surprise sex-changes" through his various official and not-so-official research channels. 

After hours of frustration, Stiles came to the conclusion that there weren't any demons, shapeshifters, or spirit creatures that used sex-changes for their nefarious purposes. Druids, witches, and a few species of wish-granters were his only options left. There were certain spells used by druids or witches that used the blood, semen, or sex organs of humans who had been unwillingly changed in some way. Stiles felt grateful that Derek was letting him stay in his house after finishing those readings. Then there were the wish-granters -- selkies, genies, tricksters, etc. -- that would sometimes perform sex-changes as part of a subject's wish, or in some twist of a subject's desire. 

Stiles hoped the last answer was the right one. According to an old bestiary his friend sent him a while back, most wish-granters could be convinced to reverse their spells if the subject made a convincing argument that their wish had not been fulfilled correctly. Stiles could most certainly do that. 

The biggest problem was that Stiles didn't remember expressing to anyone that he wanted to be a woman (or some variation of that), so he didn't know where to start in tracking down his probable wish-granter.

"Maybe it was last week when I told that store clerk I liked her shoes?" Stiles wondered aloud to himself. 

"What are you talking about?"  

Stiles jumped and smacked his head on the coffee table in Derek's living room. At some point in his frantic research, he had spread out all his books and notes and laptop over the floor and lay down halfway under the table.

"Ow. Can you announce yourself when you walk into a room?"  

"Just getting a drink." Derek chuckled and pointed at the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water before he sat down on the couch, surveying Stiles's hurricane of paperwork. "Figure it out?" 

"Could still be a druid or a witch, although I fucking hope not because if it is they want to slice me up. That option is, thankfully, unlikely because the change process would have been more painful if it was an evil spell. I didn't even wake up, so it couldn't have been that bad. We're probably looking for a wish-granter. But I don't remember telling anyone that I wished I could be a woman... ever, let alone in the last week or so. I think what most likely happened is that I said something the wish-granter misinterpreted as a desire to change into a woman. Either that, or it's a trickster who deliberately misinterpreted my desire. Still, I don't remember saying something that could even be _misinterpreted_ as this." 

"Hm." Derek's expression went kind of strange. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," he said quickly, drinking his water. His skin was shiny and smooth under his white tank top. Now that Stiles had finished vomiting his research summary back at him, he noticed that Derek was actually looking incredibly fine. He was sweaty and kind of dirty from his work in the garage. 

"You're making a chest?" 

"Yeah." 

"Can I see it?" 

Derek shrugged, but he smiled a little too. 

"Sure." 

Stiles followed Derek out into the garage that Derek had converted into a carpentry space. Inside Stiles found a lot of sharp objects that he thought he should stay away from even in his regular body, let alone in his new, unfamiliar one. He was still himself, after all, and clumsy was basically his nickname. Stiles was so focused on keeping a wide berth from the different variety of saws that he jumped when he felt Derek's hands on his shoulders. 

"Hey. Walking behind you," Derek's voice was close and his hands seemed so much bigger on Stiles's newly slim shoulders. Derek easily moved Stiles to the side so he could direct him to the half-made chest in the middle of the work room. 

"Wow." Stiles leaned down and touched the recently sanded wood. The frame was built, but the chests were still half-made on the wide counter next to it. Stiles felt genuinely impressed with the graceful design, all arching slopes and tapered edges. "This is beautiful. Your house, and everything in it, is amazing, too. You're talented." 

Derek didn't say anything, he just leaned against the counter quietly while Stiles examined the chest. 

"Now I understand why you've been so zen lately. You found your calling." Stiles chuckled to himself. It was true. Once Scott became the alpha, Derek became less reactive, but in the last few years he'd really started to seem at peace. Stiles assumed he'd found a different anchor than his anger, but he'd never asked him about it.

Derek cleared his throat and Stiles noticed he looked uncomfortable. His shoulders scrunched together slightly and his face seemed pinched. 

"I could make you something. If you want." 

Stiles stood up quickly. Almost too quickly; if he'd been his regular height, he would've smacked his head on a pallet jutting out from a shelf. Apparently, short had its perks as well as its drawbacks.

"Really? No joke?" 

"What do you want?" 

Stiles couldn't help grinning. "I don't know. I'll have to think hard about it. I may need to see more samples of your work before I decide."

Derek seemed to hold a smile down, but Stiles made no effort to hide his. Since he'd started his own business, he'd been broke more often than not. His apartment was kind of shitty and full of used furniture. He was still proud of it because at least it was his own place and not his childhood bedroom at home, but there was no denying the low-quality furnishings. Here Derek was offering him something of more value than probably all his furniture combined. 

"You've got to be able to sell these for thousands of dollars. The craftsmanship is flawless." Stiles squirmed in discomfort as he thought more about it. "You can't just give me something like that." 

"Don't worry. You can pay for it." Derek smirked and pushed off the workbench. Stiles flushed again, this time in embarrassment. Here he'd thought... 

"Well, shit. How much do you want? I don't know if I can afford your high-end handmade furniture." 

"Not money." Derek shook his head. "Something else. I'll think of something." 

"Here I thought you were turning into this amazing, generous person." Stiles huffed and squatted again to look at the chest so he could distract himself from Derek's stupid face and his stupid muscles and his stupid, sweaty everything. "You just want me for slave labor, don't you?" 

"I definitely wouldn't want you for labor." 

"What can you make that's small? I'm afraid that if I get, like, a bed frame, you'll demand my soul." 

"How about a coffee table? You hit your head on mine so I assume you like it." Even though it was a dry statement, Derek said it with a fond kind of exasperation. 

Stiles stood up again and considered him. He felt almost embarrassingly pleased with the thought of Derek making him something he could use every day. 

"I do like coffee." 

"Come take a look at some wood with me. You pick out the type of wood and design and I'll make it when I'm done with this order." 

Stiles followed him to the back of the workroom where wooden boards were stacked neatly in some sort of organized grid. Stiles ran his hands over them, checking out the fine grain of the wood and comparing colors. Derek waited patiently while Stiles asked him questions. Stile eventually settled on white pine tree and an uneven, abstract-looking design from one of Derek's blueprint folders.

"I can get coasters!" Stiles realized with delight. "Wow, I've never needed coasters before. Everything I own is shit."

"I will require proof of coasters before I give this to you." Derek sounded stern and unforgiving about that point. Stiles thought it was a little nerve-wracking how Derek just stood there watching him while he picked out the wood and the design. Again, he was reminded of how looming Derek felt to him now, so tall and distinctly masculine. Stiles was little enough that his center of gravity could very well be on the floor. The size difference was a constant reminder that Derek was a man and he... wasn't. And that word -- man -- felt different now. 

At that thought, Malia's words whispered through his head, unbidden:  _you could learn things._

Well, Stiles was nothing if not curious. And Derek was... well, Derek was Derek. 

"What about..." Stiles's mouth sealed shut as his nerves boiled over. A voice in his head briefly whispered the word "prostitution" before he quieted it. Technically, he was proposing an exchange of goods, no matter how lighthearted the negotiations were going. But Stiles felt like this was nothing like that. If anything, it woulld be mutually beneficial. Derek was his friend. Stiles was curious. Derek was a hot, semi-nice dude. Stiles knew for a fact that he hadn't dated anyone in a long, long time. It could even be considered sexy or flirty, depending on how Stiles asked him. So, he pried his mouth open and blurted, "I mean, I have this body." 

Derek squinted at him, his hand rubbing absently along a piece of lumber. Not sexy or flirty, then. Alright.

"As payment," Stiles tried again, and whoops, that was another of the worst ways to phrase this. "We could check it out together. I would like it, too, you know. It wouldn't be a chore or anything."

Derek's hand stopped moving. Stiles bit his lip as he watched Derek process his proposition (hah). Then Derek's face hardened and he shook his head. 

"No." 

And that... that hurt more than Stiles anticipated. 

"Ok." Stiles's voice came out all high and pained. "That's fine. You can think of something else. Um, I'm going inside if you don't need me."

Stiles escaped the workroom and didn't stop walking until he was safely enclosed in the guest bedroom. Then he leaped onto the bed and shoved his bright red face into a pillow. Yikes. Yikes, that happened. Of all his terrible ideas in his life, that one had to be top five at least.  

Derek didn't emerge from the workroom until later that night, so Stiles was able to sneak his papers and shit up from the living room floor to his temporary bedroom. To distract himself from his humiliation, Stiles made a list of all his past statements (that he could remember) that had anything to do with women and all the people he said them to. After several fruitless lists of half-remembered comments, Derek knocked on his door. 

"Dinner." 

Stiles buried his face in his hands and sighed. 

"Thanks." 

He forced himself downstairs and served himself eggplant parmesan without looking at Derek. That, too, was delicious. Stiles hated Derek a little bit for all the secret talents that he had successfully kept from Stiles all these years. 

Dinner was painfully quiet, as could be expected. Stiles wondered why Derek even called him down at all. He was halfway through his plate when Derek finally spoke to him. When he did, his words were halting and forced.

"You talk about it like it's someone else's body. It's not. It's still you. I know you're uncomfortable, but I wish you wouldn't just... You still smell-- I mean, you just have some minor changes." 

"Ok," Stiles agreed because he thought he understood what Derek was getting at and he was maybe a little guilty of thinking of his situation that way.

"What you said to Scott at the diner," Derek paused again before he finally met Stiles's eyes. "I don't want it to be like that. It means something to me." 

"What I said..." Stiles thought back. "Oh, when I told him he could touch my boobs?" 

"Yes." Derek looked uneasy. "Don't treat me like I'm... Scott." 

"Ok. Got it." He didn't, but Derek looked like this conversation was giving him physical pain and Stiles could be gracious. "But I would never offer Scott what I offered you. That would be totally weird. He's like my brother." Sure, Stiles was blushing a little as he said that, but he was a girl now and... ok, he blushed just as much as a guy. Lame excuse. "I don't think of you two the same way." 

Derek's expression shifted into some mysterious, complex emotion Stiles couldn't name. Derek didn't reply to him, going back to his food in silence.   

Stiles washed both their plates and put away the food. Now he felt guilty for opening his big mouth when Derek was being so nice to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Not for lack of trying, Stiles was still in a woman's body by Friday. He spent all his time juggling his regular work hours and retracing his steps from the week before to try to jog his memory of any small conversations that would have left a wish-granter with a spell hard-on. 

He adjusted to his new body slowly -- the height difference, the decidedly short arms and legs, the tiny hands and feet. By far the weirdest experience was the way other dudes looked at him when he was walking around town. The bra embargo probably had something to do with all the creepy looks, but Stiles still wasn't going to be intimidated into wearing one. As such, he was sick of men by the time Friday rolled around and Cora coerced him to go with her, Malia, Kira, and (reluctantly) Lydia to "ladies night" at a local bar. 

Stiles still felt reluctant to try anything that might make the body switch feel more permanent than it already did (like tweezing his eyebrows), but Cora enticed him into a pair of leather pants that were only a little bit too long on him. Once Stiles was in the leather pants, it just made good sense to wear heels so the pant legs looked like they were _supposed_ to come down around his ankles. The sparkly halter top was a bit much, but Cora spent a good five minutes explaining how it "worked with the ensemble" before Lydia waltzed in and told him she was taking the leather pants back if he didn't wear the top too. The back of the halter was essentially just four strings tied together, and the front covered just his boobs and the top of his stomach. Stiles felt wildly exposed in it, but he relented under the intense pressure of Lydia's gaze.

Lydia spiked his hair into delicate little tufts while Malia perfected his makeup. Before Stiles knew it, he looked like a different person. And... it was kind of fun to dress up and transform for the night, he would admit. Plus, his legs looked really rocking in the pants, even if the heels hurt like a bitch.

His posse of girls all looked more comfortable in their femininity and, Stiles would argue, more beautiful. But, Stiles didn't feel like a sore thumb as they piled together to take a picture for posterity, so he counted it a success. Lydia hashtagged the picture #squad and posted it on Instagram for her many, many minions to worship. Soon, Stiles's own phone was blowing up with comments just from being tagged in it. 

"'Who's the pixy in the middle?' Hey, he's talking about me!" Stiles read comments aloud mostly to himself, feeling pleased. Malia peered over his shoulder at his phone while Kira drove.  

"See? Fun." Malia grinned. "I'm glad you're past the moping stage." 

"Well, I masturbated a _lot_ this week and I am totally ready for someone else to do the hard work tonight, _"_ Stiles replied blandly. 

"That's the spirit."

"What was Derek like?" Cora asked suddenly from the front seat. Her eyes met Stiles's through the rearview mirror. 

"I didn't see him much. He went out almost every night. He stayed in his workshop the rest of the time." 

"That's strange." Cora frowned. "He doesn't go out." 

"Every night, dude." Stiles was a little disappointed himself. After all the awkward cleared up, Stiles enjoyed hanging out with Derek and eating meals together. But Derek had disappeared every night at around seven, so Stiles spent a lot of time alone with his various sex toys while he had the house to himself.

Cora mumbled something with a smirk. Stiles didn't hear it, but Lydia shot Cora a visible warning look, so he guessed he didn't want to. 

 

* * *

  

"No, like this. Watch carefully."  

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned over the bar. Somehow she arched her back just so and highlighted the curve of her ass perfectly. Stiles hoped she had practiced that a million times and she wasn't just naturally talented at showing off her body -- but he guessed the correct answer was the last one. She looked over at him through her lashes and Stiles's heart plummeted with a long-familiar spike of attraction.

"Ok, one, not all of us are goddesses," Stiles pointed out, feeling like the cards were stacked against him. "Two, how the fuck do you get your back to do that?"

"Yoga." Lydia straightened and nodded at him. "You try. Pick a target."  

"I'm not coordinated enough for this, even in my regular body." 

"Pick, Stiles." 

Stiles surveyed the crowded bar with a sour taste in his mouth. Kira and Malia were out dancing together on the floor and he wished he could join them rather than failing at Lydia's Seduction Training at the bar. Moreover, since Lydia mandated that he couldn't buy himself drinks -- he had to get others to buy them for him -- he was barely even buzzed. So far he'd tricked one unsuspecting frat bro into buying him a shot, but Stiles had only gotten out a few sentences before the guy suddenly heard his "friend" calling him and left hastily. 

With that heartening memory in mind, Stiles shrugged and pointed at a guy at the end of the bar. He looked kind of shy, watching other people dance while he nursed a drink in one hand. He didn't look like he'd try to grope Stiles if he sat too close to him, which was apparently his new and very low standard for other men. 

"Can't I just hit on girls?" Stiles breathed softly.

"You should have spoken up earlier so we could plan on a lesbian bar. Now you're stuck." Lydia shooed him in the guy's direction. Stiles teetered over slowly on his heels, trying not to pitch one way or the other until he got to an empty part of the bar next to the guy. The guy glanced at him before quickly looking down at this drink and pretending like Stiles didn't exist. Obviously, this wasn't going to work, but Lydia would beat him down if he didn't at least act like he was trying. Stiles folded himself over the bar and pretended like he was looking at the board behind the bar (even though he could read the drink names just as well standing up). All the drinks were named after different sex acts. Super classy spot, obviously.   

"What are you getting?" Shit. It worked.

Stiles glanced over at the guy. He wasn't bad looking, but he also didn't light Stiles's panties on fire or anything.

"Two blowjobs."

The guy looked startled until Stiles nodded pointedly at the board and its kinky drinks. 

"Oh, right. Well, I'll buy." The guy flagged down the bartended easier than Stiles could and ordered the drinks. 

"Thanks." Stiles settled down on a bar stool and tried not to be terribly self-conscious of the scrap of clothing barely covering his breasts. "What's your name?"  

"Tom."  

"I'm Stiles."  

"Isn't that... a thing on your eye?"  

"No, that's a stye. You're missing the 'les'."  Tom was a winner.  

"Oh. How's your night going?" 

"Pretty riveting," now that he was having this _amazing_ conversation with Tom. "I let my friends dress me up earlier. Usually, I'm not so sparkly. Really adds a whole new layer to life."

Tom didn't look like he knew what to do with that. Stiles's expectations wilted. Luckily, the bartender plopped two shot glasses filled with coconut-flavored liquids and whipped cream in front of him. Stiles licked the whipped cream off immediately and noticed Tom watching. Even if the conversation was failing, his tongue was still good for something.

"Do you maybe want to dance?" Tom asked cautiously after Stiles downed the two shots one after the other. They burned going down, despite the pleasant flavor. 

"Are you any good?" Stiles asked with a shit-eating smile. Tom stared at him. Stiles sighed. "I mean, sure." 

Tom was an exactly average dancer and Stiles quickly overpowered him with his own dance moves. But unlike the frat guy from before, Tom didn't seem to scare easy, even if he didn't know quite what to do with Stiles. Stiles told himself that all he needed tonight was a willing sexual partner for some light experimentation-- and Tom was looking good for that. Still, he couldn't help the sinking feeling of disappointment. He was an over-the-moon kind of person; he felt it with Lydia, he felt it with Malia. He'd never slept with someone he didn't love or feel a strong attraction to. 

At least in the romance department, tonight felt somewhat... hollow. 

By the second Lady Gaga remix, Stiles came to a grim decision. He patted Tom on the chest and yelled over the music that he was headed to the bathroom. He didn't look back as he fought his way through the throng to find Malia and Kira. They welcomed him into their little circle, but Stiles shook his head and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the exit. They looked like they wanted to argue, but luckily the music was too loud for them to do so successfully. 

Stiles took one more voluntary selfie with them before he shifted his way through the crowd and to the relaxing night air. The immediate drop in noise as Stiles's feet hit the concrete settled him in his decision. He called a Lyft and spent his waiting time editing the picture of him, Malia, and Kira. Just as the the car pulled up, he changed it to his phone background, smiling to himself. 

Stiles felt a little bad for ditching Lydia yet again as they pulled off the curb. He had a feeling his seduction teacher would disapprove strongly of his decision to leave early. He figured it was better to ask forgiveness later than to face her wrath while he was still tipsy enough to be persuaded.

 

* * *

  

Stiles hummed Lady Gaga to himself as he sat on the floor of Derek's house and struggled with the strappy nightmares plastered to his feet. He wasn't quite drunk, but even sober(ish) he couldn't understand why these shoes needed five buckles. The pain women suffered for fashion's sake. 

After what felt like a lifetime, he managed to liberate his sore feet from the confines of the shoes. He spent a few moments massaging feeling back into them before he stepped lightly through the darkened house and up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Rather than return to his own bedroom, Stiles poked his head into Derek's room only to find it missing an occupant. Stiles wondered where Derek disappeared to at night and briefly considered that he could have a girlfriend he didn't want to bring into the house while Stiles was staying with him.

The thought bothered Stiles more than he expected. He sagged against the door as he considered the likelihood of his conclusion; it was the only reason Stiles knew of that adults frequently left their bedrooms at nighttime. 

He tiptoed into the room and lay down on the bed. A sigh of contentment escaped him as the comfort of a bed and Derek's warm scent combined to loosen the tension in his shoulders.

But he still felt an aching disappointment in the pit of his stomach. He didn't realize that the idea of Derek dating someone without his knowledge would leave him so depressed. Maybe it was the fact that he'd struck out so spectacularly tonight. Maybe it was because Derek had turned him down so definitively earlier, and now he might be hiding a relationship from him. Maybe it was this new body and all the changes that came with it. 

Maybe it was none of that and Stiles just didn't want Derek to date someone that wasn't him. 

Stiles hummed another line of "Bad Romance" to himself as he marinated on that idea. He already knew that he found Derek attractive physically, but somewhere in the last few years he might have expanded that attraction to Derek's quiet, grumpy, sometimes-an-asshole personality, too. Enough that it genuinely bummed him out to think of Derek sleeping with someone else, anyway.

Stiles settled back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling of Derek's bed. The room smelled clean, a sort of well-dusted taste to the air. A book with a forest on the front cover rested on the nightstand. Stiles picked it up and felt the weight of it in his hands as a fond sort of realization blossomed in his chest: he knew Derek better than he realized, and he enjoyed Derek more than he wanted to admit. 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and thumbed through the book. It seemed to be about some old man who found a small zoo of wounded animals and nursed them back to life. Stiles fell asleep while reading the story of the bunny with three legs. 

 

* * *

 

"Stiles, this is my bed." 

Stiles cracked an eye open. 

"You missed your bed by about twenty feet and a room." Derek's eyebrows were raised expectantly as he stood over Stiles. His arms were crossed over his chest, but Stiles didn't get the sense that he was angry. "How drunk were you? Or, _are_ still?" 

"I'm..." Stiles sat up slowly, registering his surroundings. "Where have you been?" 

"What?" Derek seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "Why?" 

The odds of Derek having a secret girlfriend tripled with this hedging statement. Stiles didn't have a great answer to that, so he bullshitted. 

"If you're not using this amazing bed, I call dibs." Stiles frowned at him, trying to hide his disappointment. Derek snorted and shook his head. 

"Out. I'm here now." 

"Alright." Stiles sighed and rubbed his eyes to procrastinate. He didn't want to move. 

"You drunk?" Derek added after a moment. 

"Buzzed. Lydia took us out to a 'girl's night out'. My feet are killing me. Boys suck. Girls rule. End of summary." 

Derek hesitated before he sat down next to him on the bed. 

"Did you have fun?" 

"I was supposed to find someone who wanted to have sex with me." Stiles kept his hands over his eyes as he admitted that. "Didn't go very well. Beyond my obvious charm, I'm not really the hook-up type. I have to really like someone."

Stiles realized too late the revealing context of that statement -- he'd asked Derek only a few days ago if he wanted to have sex with him. Derek was smart enough to connect the dots.

Sure enough, the silence went on just long enough to be awkward. Then Derek cleared his throat. 

"You treated me like Scott," Derek's voice was soft. "I don't want to be Scott." 

"You have a girlfriend, don't you?" Stiles blurted, taking his hands off his eyes and staring resolutely at the ceiling. That sentence felt a little too much like saying, "the world is ending, isn't it?" His heart was pounding and Derek could probably hear it. 

"...No." 

Stiles jerked as a thought occurred to him. 

"Boyfriend?" 

Derek hesitated a moment before he shook his head. Stiles's heart pounded louder in his ears. 

"You know I'm both in one, right?" Stiles quirked a smile. Derek also smiled, though faintly. "Yup. Stiles Stilinski-- the whole package." 

"You are that," Derek agreed without a shade of sarcasm. Stiles suddenly had a difficult time looking Derek in the eye. He wasn't sure how he should proceed from here. Derek had already turned him down once, but the air felt charged and full of potential. He didn't seem to be shutting him down now.

Lydia's voice filtered through his thoughts: _You try. Pick a target._

"Well, guess I'll go back to my own bed. You're probably tired." Stiles peered up at Derek through his lashes in his best Lydia impression. He held Derek's eyes a little too long before he yawned delicately and covered his hand with his mouth. "It's awfully late, isn't it?" Stiles slithered onto his stomach and pushed up slowly onto his hands and knees. He arched his back the way Lydia had shown him, prayed it didn't look awkward and weird since the only yoga he practiced was the savasana, and sank back as gracefully as he could onto his knees. He started to slide back to the edge of the bed when Derek stopped him with a hand on his knee. 

"It can't be casual." Derek looked a little... undone. Success. His gaze trailed over Stiles's face before dropping shamelessly to Stiles's exposed shoulders and braless chest. Guys had been doing that to him all week, but until this moment, Derek had been a notable exception. Derek had kept his eyes glued to Stiles's face and respected his wishes not to comment on his clothes. Oggling had felt alarming and gross when it came from strange men in the grocery store, but now when Derek looked at him it felt pleasing. Stiles shivered with satisfaction and felt his nipples tighten under the attention, like a chill running through the air.  

"Ok," Stiles agreed. If Derek wanted to date him, he wasn't going to get in the way of that. "Even when I'm a boy?"

"Especially then." Derek stared hard at him like Stiles had told him he was turning into a camel rather than a man. Stiles nodded, his brain lagging behind the unreality of the current situation. Then Derek surged forward, his hands trailing up Stiles thighs to carefully encircle his waist, and Stiles's brain needed to kick back into gear. Derek's hands felt huge and hot around his waist. 

"You want...?" Derek kissed him like he was tasting Stiles's lips, licking in gently before drawing back and swallowing a shaky breath. 

"I want," Stiles confirmed on a whimper. "Yes. Lots of want. All the want. _Please_ don't send me back to my own bed." 

Derek muffled his next whimper with his lips, his tongue gliding along Stiles's and sending an earthquake of shivers rippling down his spine. Derek's warm hands skimmed along his back and got to work on the flimsy knots tying the scrap of cloth to Stiles's chest. It only took him a few seconds until the halter top was falling away and Stiles was left bare-chested while Derek breathed shakily into his hair, gripping his shoulders like it gave him stability. Stiles was the one who needed something to hold onto -- he felt suddenly like he was made of jello. 

Stiles nearly melted when Derek's hands slid from his shoulders to his breasts, leaving warm, tingling trails in their path. A high groan escaped Stiles as Derek squeezed his nipples between his thumbs and the inner line of his hand.  

"You like that?" He nipped at Stiles's ear, breathless and shaky.  

Stiles groaned again in response as Derek tweaked his nipples, squeezing the handfulls a little more intentionally. 

"Back," Derek directed him, nudging Stiles into falling back on the bed, his chest heaving under Derek's attention. Derek sank lower, kissing the line of Stiles's neck and mouthing generously at collarbones and skin until he suckled on one perky nipple rolled between his thumb and finger. 

And, honestly, the sounds were new. Stiles couldn't stop _moaning. Loudly._ He did not cry out this often, or this loudly, in his male body. It was an unexpected difference between the two bodies, but he didn't seem to be able to easily quell all his new sounds, and he didn't have the energy to care too much about it. He decided to relax into it, crooning and gasping as Derek made his way down Stiles's skin to the button of his leather pants. 

"How did you fall asleep in these?" Derek wondered as he tugged them down around Stiles's thighs. 

"I just... I... I literally can't think about anything but getting your own clothes off right now. Please don't make me make sentences," Stiles complained, pawing impatiently at Derek's shoulders as he struggled to lift Derek's shirt. Derek helped him, shrugging out of the shirt at the same moment Stiles started in on his pant buttons, his impatience growing. 

"I need you in me, like, yesterday," Stiles muttered. Derek stilled, his eyes flaring as they examined Stiles's face. Stiles's cheeks heated under the scrutiny, but he kept his focus and Derek's pants slid down his hips after another moment. 

"Shit," Stiles whispered, mesmerized by Derek's body. "Fuck." 

Derek kicked his pants off and pulled Stiles down with him, his movements quick and his hands heated. Stiles went easily, landing on Derek's chest, his skin shockingly hot to the touch. Their legs tangled immediately and Stiles was overwhelmed with the sense that this was _actually happening._

Derek kissed him for a long while, hands trailing up Stiles's back, across his shoulders, and then back down to curve over his ass. Learning where he could touch that would make Stiles gasp and moan. Stiles was sucked into a dream-like state of aroused happiness, floating from each gentle caress to the next. 

"I want to taste you," Derek murmured, his mouth against the shell of Stiles's ear. A shock of arousal shot down Stiles's spine, straight to his groin. He didn't think it was possible to be more turned on that he already was, but apparently sex with Derek was on a completely new level. 

"Me too," Stiles insisted enthusiastically, biting down on Derek's shoulder to illustrate. His skin smelled so good, and it tasted even better. Derek shuddered, then shifted his body, confusing Stiles until he reversed his position and settled between Stiles's thighs. His hips hovered over Stiles's shoulders.

Stiles was shocked by the first touch of Derek's lips against his sex, the curl and slide of his tongue warm against Stiles's neglected and swollen clit. Stiles's thighs squeezed together in reflex, but Derek's hands held them apart, a gentle but firm pressure that left Stiles feeling helpless against the sudden onslaught of pleasure. He writhed against Derek is protest, Derek's tongue too much intensity all at once, but Derek held him down without effort, pinning his thighs to the bed as the pressure on Stiles's clit became even more intense. 

Giving up his struggle, he instead got lost in it, the warm teasing shuddering through him in steadily more powerful waves. Eventually, he realized that Derek was hard and well within reach. He gently took the head of his cock into his mouth, wrapping his arms around Derek's waist to ensure he could give as good as he was getting. He felt, rather than heard, Derek groan against him, just another sensation in the cacophony that left him shuddering.

Stiles slid Derek deeper into his throat and heard Derek gasp. Stiles felt Derek lean his head against Stiles's thighs, apparently immobilized by Stiles's mouth just as Stiles had been by his. Stiles wrapped his tongue around the length of it, licking up as he pulled off, then suckling on the head again before taking it all the way. Derek's hips jerked then stilled, his hands tightening on the flesh of Stiles's thighs. 

"God." Stiles heard the quiet murmur before he bobbed his head again, reaching up to cup Derek's balls and massage them even as he felt Derek start back up on him. It was harder to focus with Derek's lips against him, but he would be damned if Derek was down there liquifying his insides and he couldn't even think clearly enough to blow him decently. 

Even if he couldn't use his usual refined technique while Derek was scrambling his brains, Stiles resolved to suck him deeper and harder than he ever had. This resolution seemed to work just fine for Derek. He shuddered against Stiles as Stiles swallowed him down again and again, Derek's little groans tickling Stiles's clit in between warm kisses and licks. As Stiles worked him deeper, he felt Derek dive deeper too -- his tongue dipped inside, at first tentatively, then with greater confidence as Stiles yelped and cried at the feel of it. Soon Derek's rhythm matched his own; he was tongue fucking him in time with Stiles blowing him. 

The realization that Derek was fucking him simultaneously in two different ways sent Stiles over the edge. His thighs tightened against Derek again, catching on his powerful, huge hands. A breathy yell tore through him, muffled by the cock in his mouth. Derek seemed to catch on quickly to what was happening, slipping a finger into him to thrust in time with his contractions, his tongue massaging his clit through the duration of his orgasm. 

As Stiles went limp, Derek slowly disentangled himself, leaving Stiles feeling empty and cold in more than one way. Luckily, Derek just shifted to sit on his hips, looking down at Stiles with dark eyes as he jacked himself off over Stiles's stomach. His hungry gaze traveled over Stiles's face -- flushed and red, no doubt --  down to Stiles's lips. He reached with one hand and slipped two fingers briefly into Stiles's mouth, just testing the feel of Stiles's tongue, before trailing down to cup his breast gently. Stiles lay there, somehow still turned on by how turned on Derek looked. He watched with some surprise as Derek tilted his head back and came on Stiles's stomach like that. Derek was beautiful when he was coming -- muscles tightened, the long column of his throat exposed, his quiet, shaky breaths riddled with tension. 

Stiles smoothed his hands over Derek's thighs as he rested more of his weight on Stiles's abdomen in his own post-orgasm exhaustion. Stiles met his eyes and smiled, which Derek returned before he bent and kissed him gently. 

Stiles tasted himself on his tongue -- tangy, almost sweet -- and stiffened with surprise. Derek pushed the taste into his mouth, putting one hand on Stiles's jaw and easing his rigid mouth open for him to dive in with his tongue, just as he had between Stiles's legs. 

"Fuck, you're going to kill me," Stiles gasped when Derek finally let him up for air, smirking at him with darkened eyes. He shifted again, settling next to Stiles to curl around his body, seeming impossibly big to Stiles in his little, feminine form. 

Derek's breathing was soft and evening out as he fit himself against Stiles's side, his arm slung over Stiles's waist and his nose buried in Stiles's hair. Stiles closed his eyes, impossibly happy and warm, and tried not to break the precious moment. 

"How was that?" Derek asked, his voice a little raspy. 

"Weird," Stiles answered honestly. "So different. When I'm a dude, my orgasm is so fast and sudden. This was like... drowning slowly and then all at once. But in a really, really good way. Shit." 

"Drowning," Derek snorted. "Nice metaphor." 

"I don't know! You try switching bodies and see how well you can describe it." 

"You're loud," Derek commented softly, sending a shiver through Stiles. "I like it." Then he snorted again. "Didn't think I would, but it's... hot." 

"I'm not that loud when I'm a dude," Stiles protested, embarrassed.  

"We'll see." 

Stiles warmed at that thought. 

"If I _ever_ turn back," Stiles sighed, remember his difficulties tracking down whatever did this to him. Zero progress in a week wasn't promising. Next to him, Derek stiffened before he sat up on his elbow and looked down at Stiles. He took a breath before he spoke, his expression serious. 

"About that. I... you'll be back to normal tomorrow." 

"What?" Stiles sat up with a jolt. "How? What?" 

Derek took another deep breath, casting a wary look over at Stiles. 

"I was... in a bar a while ago. This guy started talking to me, just out of the blue, and I thought... it doesn't matter what I thought, it was stupid. He was interested in me. I should have known." Derek sounded more than a little self-loathing. 

"The wish-granter?" 

"Yeah." Derek ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Anyway, I may have mentioned you." 

"...You wished I was a woman?" Stiles asked faintly. 

"No!" Derek looked offended. "We were talking about fucking up our relationships. I said I didn't think I could be in love with a woman again." Derek reddened as he said that. "He just smiled. It was so fucking weird." Derek avoided his eyes, staring hard at the bed covers instead. "The next day you were like this." 

"Because..." Stiles gaped at him, the wheels in his head turning slowly again. 

"Don't." Derek sighed. "Please." 

Stiles felt a grin spread over his face, completely beyond his control. Derek looked increasingly embarrassed by his reaction. Stiles put a hand over his mouth to try to hide it, but that seemed to draw more attention to his smile. Derek ran another hand through his hair and glanced around, his eyes landing on the door. Stiles scooted closer to ensure he could grab him if he tried to make a break for it.

"Well," Stiles managed, still grinning, "I guess I forgive you, then." 

Derek met his eyes almost reluctantly as Stiles leaned in to kiss him again. Derek still looked embarrassed when Stiles pulled back, but it was a happier embarrassed than before. 

"So that's where you've been every night," Stiles realized. 

"I went back to that bar," Derek admitted. "Finally, he came back in tonight. I... _convinced_ him to undo the spell."

"Right." Stiles smiled. "So he's still alive?" 

"Yes." Derek frowned at him. 

"What a fucker." 

"Yes," Derek agreed. 

"You know what, though?" Stiles scooted even closer, snuggling up against Derek and running his finger through Derek's dark hair. Derek closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Stiles's entire body vibrated with happiness. "Somehow, I'm not that upset about it anymore." 


End file.
